Maxi-Boy Reality Check
by Ailayia
Summary: Two realities, One man. A change. Maxwell Geurin; Maxwell Evans. Two very different men, witht he same purpose.To get home.
1. Default Chapter

Switching : A Change in Thinking ::Distribute any where, any time!::   
::This story takes place partly in an alternate universe, partlyin the Roswell that we all know and love.:: 

He grew up in Roswell; if you could call it that. After all, being "created" at the age of 7 wasn't exactly what anybody could call normal. But to Max, Michael, and Isabelle, that was exactly what it was; normal. Michael and Isabelle got the good stuff; adopted by the Evans, they had everything a kid could ask for.   
And then Max got Hank. A no-account, good-for-nothing drunk who only kept him around for the check that came rolling in month after month.   
People thought that he kept fit and muscled to look good, to get the girls. The real reason? So that when Hank hit him, it didn't hurt so much. So that people would thinkt hat he got the bruises and scrapes from working out, not getting thrown around by a man he could knock out with one punch. Or one twitch of his alien powers, if the truth be told.   
Maybe that was why he spent so much time at the Evans'. Their mother didn't like him very much; thought he was just a no-account bully. But she never said anything; didn't want to upset Michael. He was like a lit fuse sometimes, the smallest thing able to set him off. So she was careful, always overly polite to Max. But he knew that he wasn't wanted.   
Her husdband was just the same; the guy knew, from experience, how much trouble Max got into, and he didn't like the fact that Max seemed to spend most of his time, not in Michael's bedroom, but in Isabelle's.   
He slept there sometimes; of course, if her parents knew about it, they'd flip. But he did it anyway, a matress pushed under her bed pulled out whenever heneeded to crash there for the night.   
Sometimes he'd be half-drunk when he got there, an dshe'd j ust calm him down abotu whatevefr he was angry about, make him take a shoer, have a glass of warm milk, a nd then stay awake with him until he'd dozed off ........ or dropped unconsious. sometimes she even took the shower with him, to make sure that he didn't pass out on the floor. He'd done that a couple of times, and scared her half to death.   
He stayed away from everybody except Michael and Isabelle. If they were sitting with other friends at lunch, he'd just mak hi mself scarce ........ maybe take his lunch (if he had any) to a corner of the football field, eat it alone. If he didn't have any, he'd just go and sit there. Sometimes with a book.   
That was one thing that told you that Maxwell Geruin wasn't as though as he pretended to be. He buried himself in books, especially the fantasy & scifi ones. If all else failed, he'd turn to books. He wasn't as obsessed with them as he was at a younger age, but they could still be classified as an obsession. A way out. An escape from the real world.   
Michael, larely, had been trying to figure out the purpose of the Granolith. And warning Max to stay away from Liz Parker. He'd been eyeing her lately, and she'd been returning the favor. And Michael was worried; worried about other people finding out about their secret.   
So that was why he was here with Michael. To make sure he didn't go and talk tot he chick. Max had to admit, he felt like he was being babysat, but it was better than sitting in that damned trailer, waiting for Hank to make his way home. Not much better, though. Michael could be really boring when he wanted to be; and obviosly, today, that was exactly what he wanted to be.   
He was fiddling with the thing, running his hands over and around it, when the flash came. A flash of blinding pure light, and he was thrown halfway across the room, feeling like his body was being sucked out of itself, twisted this way and that.   
A scream erupted from mazx's lips, and he thought he heard ichael elling at him, telling him to let go. Let go? Of what? He was nowhere near the gRanolith.   
Yes, he was. The Granolith had gone with him, he was holding it in his hands.   
And then, utter and complete blackness. Max slid fully onto the floor, unconscious. He never even noticed the change that took place.Never noticed the switch of realities, the switch of identities and bodies. 


	2. Who Is He?

Michael slowly leaned over the unconcious body of his friend, brushing dark brown hair away from Max's eyes. "Do you know what happened, Michael?" 

Michael sighed softly as he heard Isabelle's voice. She was concnerned; he knew that. But did she haveto act like he knew all of the answers? Was this how Maxwell felt all the time? "He's comming to!" Michael suddenly annoucned, cradling the side of Max's face as the young man slowly opened his eyes, moaning softly at the harsh glare of light that instantly assaulted him. 

"Light . . . . . . . ." He muttered, and he heard the Michael holler, "Is, shut your damned win dow! And your light! It's hurtin' him!" Since when did Michael swear? Max thought confusedly, rolling his head over to the side. 

He was lying in Michael's bed, stipped down to his boxers. Michael never let ANYBODY into his bed, event hough it was rarely made. His room was always a mess. And yet, he could feel the clean blankets beneath him, spread out neatly underneath him. 

And from the glimpse he'd caught of the room, it was neat and orderly; not something he'd come to expect from Michael Evans. 

"Are you okay, Maxwell?" That was Michael, concern lacing his voice. Michael must have carried him here, brought him nito his own room, rather than take him all the way back to Hank. Back to Max's hell. 

"I'm fine, Michael. Stop fukin' hoverin' over me, k? Jesus Christ!" Max xclaimed, slowly sittingup in the bed. Just a moment ago he'd been hoping with all of his might that Michael and Isabelle would let him stay here, atleast for the night. Now, all that he wanted to do was get out. 

"Dammit Maxwell, you don't haveto snap. I was just worried about you. Do you have any idea what happened back there? I mean allt hat you did was touch the thing ........" Michael let his voice trai loff into nothing, watching his friend closely. 

"Yes, Michael, I do have an idea what happened. I touched the granolith, and I practically exploded into red-hot fire ........ or atleast that's what it felt like. Other than that? Don't remember a thing, don't know a thing. Noe leave me alone!" Max hissed, running a hand through his dark brown hair. 

Since when did he wear his hair like this? Usually he had it spiked, or atleast jelled up. With his luck, Isabelle got him into the shower or somet hing equally degrading. She'd always hated the way he wore his hair. And since when did Michael wear his like that? 

Michael was always the calm one of the group, the one making the rational decisions. Max, on the other hand, was willing to just give somebody a good beating to get whatever information they needed. They usually didn't get along too well. 

"I"m going home," Max muttered, slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sooner he got outo f here, the better. Not that he'd actually go home. 

More blank stares, mixing with an over-riding confusion. "Max, you are home. This is our house; you know, where you, me, mom, and dad live?!" Isabelle exclaimedshifting slightly, the better to see Max. She had been sitting, slouched in a chair across the room from his bed, but now she sat bold upright, gripping the arms of the chair, until he nuckles turned a stark white. 

"What are you talking about Is ........" Michael cut him off harshly before Max could ven finish saying the young woman's name, asking gruffly, "Max, I thinkt hat something more than just a nock on the head might have happened when the granolith reacted to you the way that it did. The others looked away when it hit you; I didn't. I think that ........ I'm not exactly sure what I think. But maybe we should have Liz run some tests, find out if anything out of the odinary is g oing on ehre." 

"Wait, wait. Who's Liz?" Max asked, noticing the look of terror that crossed both of his friends faces. Was he supposed to know some chick named Liz? He definately didn't remember meeting her, but then again Michael was always yelling at him for forgetting stuff that he should remember. Probably the reaon why Michael was the thinker, and he was the doer. 

"Majorly, something happened. And i'm gonna find out what it was now." Michael hissed, slamming out of the room. Max sunk back down, onto the neatly folded covers to the bed beneath him, mulling over what Isabelle had said a couple of moments ago. 

"Isabelle, what d'you mean, this is where I live? I mean, not likin' Hank is one thing, but refusin' to beleive that I live with the fuy is anot her matter altogeather." Max murmured, rolling over so that he faced the other woman. 

"Hank? Max, Michael was the one who lived with Hank, not you. You got adopted by the Evans, same as me, remember? Michael, Geurin, Isabelle and Maxwell Evans. Ring a belle?" Isabelle laughed nervously, anything to break the tension radiating throughout the room. 

"Okay, now you've lost me. Isabelle, my name is Maxwell Geurin. NOT Evans. And i'm tired. WE'llt alk 'bout this again when I wake up, K?" He got no answer, and Max didn't check to see if she'd even ehard him, merely rolled over onto his back and slowly closed his eyes, allowing his muscles to relax. He only did that when he was in this hou se, and he asn't going to giveup the chance to have a good night's sleep for once 


End file.
